


Just a Taste

by berence



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:52:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berence/pseuds/berence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have to say,this translation makes me very happy!Thanks so much sphesphe and her friend.</p><p>translator: bruins-anonymous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Taste

Autumn rains in Boston could kill you with the chill, particularly at night.

Bergy rubbed his hands together, feeling as though his heart was going to freeze up and stop beating if he didn’t get in the car soon. He was in the middle of closing his umbrella when he saw someone jogging over, rapid steps disrupting the steady rhythm of the pattering rain. The collars of his overcoat raised near his cheeks, the figure grinned as he came into focus: “hey bud.”

Bergy raised his umbrella to shade him as Ference’s dimples deepened. “Why didn’t you get in the car?” Rain from the ends of his semi-wet hair slid along his forehead and brow to the bottom of his nose. He gave a sniff and added, “Idiot.”

“Hey,” Bergy huffed out an exasperated laugh. “Do you still want a ride or not? I could drive off by myself, you know.”

“All right, all right,” Ference reached out a hand to pat him on the cheek. “Sorry, bro. I was just talking to Greg about something—oh you really are a idiot, your face feels like an ice rink. Damn fool.” Muttering, he shoved the umbrella toward Bergy’s side.

Mouth quirking, Bergy shut the umbrella, opened the car door on the passenger side and got in. “Don’t even think about making me drive. Jerk.”

Ference gave the wet silver-gray Audi a swipe. He yelled out, “marry me, Patrice, NOW!”

Bergy, laughing, swore something in reply.

Campbell could hear their voices echoing in the empty parking lot as he walked to his parking space, the low laughter unobscured even by the patter of the rain. He couldn’t resist tilting the corner of his mouth upwards. He waited till the people in the other car drove away before getting into his own.

The basic hallmark of the professional athlete is to recognize with clarity one’s own position and surrounding environment, to be sober and rational, to exert oneself without distractions. There are times, though, when it’s not a matter of whether you do a good job, but what kind of “goods” you’re determined to be. Even so, within these widely known rules (the profusion of sentiment being what makes humans human) there are always some things that build up slowly, until they become a force you cannot ignore.You can’t even say when it happened, perhaps in the span of time it took for the little black puck to fly hissing into the net—but that moment when he’s smiling as he glides towards you, that moment when he opens his arms to embrace you tightly, you feel your heart beat like thunder, even trembling slightly. Even when you turn your head occasionally and see him rest his head against 21’s chest, completely drained, the other in his “A” cradling him; or when you see 37, usually so calm, bounding and crashing into 21’s arms, causing his dimples to deepen—it’s probably true what they say, the water signs are always the gentle ones, you think.

When it comes down to it, everyone around you comes and goes, lingering for a while before saying goodbye. Timidity and insecurity comes not from yourself, but from the place you occupy in the other person’s heart. The only way to avoid experiencing raw, soul-stripping pain is to only go so far, to stand at your designated distance and but to look on occasionally. That is the best thing to do.

Campbell gave his steering wheel a forceful spin, his car driving off in the opposite direction.

Arriving in front of his house, Ference did not go in immediately but watched Bergy leave and then stood a while under the street lamps, lost in thought. The curb of the streets reminded him of the street hockey he played this same time two years ago with Campbell. Greg who played defense not with his body but with his huge eyes containing the entirety of his smile, which made Ference start to smile too. He also thought of 37, always serene, sitting on the bus or the plane during a road trip, asking to see a movie.

He closed his eyes and rested awhile. When summer came, he would return to Canada, back to Edmonton. He understood the environment in which he finds himself and the circumstances he faced, knew the choices he had to make. The past six, seven years in Boston are precious enough, the days, the people, the rings, the Cup, the person. He was unsure whether he could digest the memories. After all, to forget a person or an event, that has nothing to do with time.


End file.
